The Ballet
by BritishNinjaChick
Summary: one shot. Tony takes Ziva to the ballet to cheer her up with some interesting consequences.


**Hey, it's me. **

**It is 0053 in the morning, and I have just got back from seeing Wicked again. It is the most amazing thing in the world, and if you have not seen it yet, I suggest you go to your theatre and watch it.**

**Anyway, it was the interval, and something she said in one of the songs got me thinking, so here I am at 1 in the morning, writing. Here you are.**

She was enthralled. There was no way to break her out of this spell. Not even an earthquake would register, unless the ballet stopped.

He watched her, amazed at how entranced she was by the entire spectacle. This woman, who never stopped watching, never relaxed, even for one moment was now oblivious to the whole world, to everything, except the dancers onstage.

He laughed quietly as he watched her eyes light up in delight and she let out a little gasp as a man on stage lifted his partner over his head in the most intriguing shape.

She could feel her heart, beating in time to the music as the tempo changed, feel it rise up the scales and fall as it did too. To all others there, it was simply, pretty. A way to while away the evening, to soak up a bit of culture. But to her, it was everything. It was like it was inside her, forcing her to move along with it, although she had not moved an inch since the first bar of music played and the first person came onstage, except to gasp at the movements - which seemed to her to be physically impossible, even if she knew, deep down that she could do them too with little hassle - or to try to get a better view.

This was what it had been like, the first time she had watched the ballet with her father, in France. It was almost like a calling from above, to follow, to dance. She had known, then, that that was what she wanted to do. When she was grown and in charge of her own life, she was going to take to the stage, and feel the same strength that she felt as she watched. She wanted to be part of something so much bigger than herself.

And that was what she had done. She was part of something bigger, but it was not the way she wanted. Her father had moulded her into what he wanted her to be and had completely ignored her own wishes. Now she was part of Mossad, living as others instructed, forged into a killer. She did not dance anymore.

But as Shakespeare once said, 'all the world is a stage'.

As she watched, she couldn't help but feel like a child again and was eternally grateful to the man who had brought her. She had only once, in passing, mentioned how much she loved dancing. But it had stuck with him and that meant more to her than he could ever know.

She was so beautiful, he thought as he watched her, her eyes fixated on the stage. He knew she thought he had forgotten, when she had said, quite unexpectedly, how she loved dancing. She had said it in passing as a reply to something he had said, but he had remembered.

He had wanted her to be happy. She did not seem to be since she came back from Israel. He had longed to see her smile as she used to. Now, as he watched her, he realised that he must be disappointed. She was not smiling as she used to. He had never seen her smile like this before.

It seemed like a combination of wonderment, amusement, childish excitement and complete, all consuming joy all rolled into one. But there was something else there to. A look as though she felt she belonged. As though she understood ever note that was played, every move that was made, as though they all related back to her in some small way.

The music was rising. Any moment now, it would break into a resounding crash, like a bomb. She didn't know how she knew this, she just did. It was part of her and she knew each part.

Millie-seconds before the crash, she threw out her hand, reaching almost desperately in thin air for something to keep her anchored, as though she would end up flying through the air if she did not stop herself.

Her hand collided with his and held on as the hall seemed to erupt around them.

Both felt the collision, and both felt the shockwave slide up their arms. Both their hearts sped up. Both their breaths caught in their throats. They both felt their hearts skip a beat at the touch of the other.

And then she had jerked her hand away and both immediately felt the loss.

She did not look at him. She did not feel she could. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to the stage, but although she still felt the beats pulsing through her, she couldn't keep her mind in it. In her head, even as she watched the dance and felt her heart continue to rise with the music, she couldn't stop herself from thinking back to how nice it had felt to have his hand in hers, even if only for a few seconds.

He went back to watching her, as he felt as though that was the only thing he could do. He couldn't, of course, do what he wanted to, which was grab her and pull her into a kiss so strong she would never want to let go. His hand tingled from the contact, and his heart refused to go back to its steady beating. He couldn't stop thinking about how nice it had been to be holding her hand, even if it had only been an accident on her part.

The ballet ended and as the last note faded away, they stood up, applauding those on stage as they came for their final curtain call.

Tony smiled as he held his partner's coat for her to wriggle into. The ballet had been thoroughly uneventful, but she had obviously enjoyed it and that was all that mattered.

They left the theatre and started towards Tony's car, parked just outside.

The ride home was quiet as both were tired and still waiting for their hearts to calm down.

They stopped outside Ziva's apartment and got out, Tony deciding that it would be gentlemanly of him to walk her to her door.

Outside her door, they hesitated, unsure of what to do. For some reason, that moment had changed things, and each was trying to decide if that was a good thing.

'Good night, Tony,' murmured Ziva, tiredly, looking up into his eyes.

'Night, Zee-Vah,' he murmured back.

Suddenly, and without really knowing why, she leant up on her toes and kissed him, gently, on the lips, pulling away before he could respond, before turning and walking into her apartment, shutting the door behind her.

Tony stood on the doorstep for several minutes, trying to put together what had just happened. Had Ziva just kissed him? Carefully, he put his hands up to his lips and brushed his fingers gently over them. They tingled, just like his hand had.

With a small bemused smile, he finally turned away from the door, and went back to his car. He told himself he would ask her in the morning, but he knew he wouldn't. It was just easier that way.

He wanted something to happen between them, but it would still be a little while yet, just a little while, before he had enough confidence.

And when he did have that confidence, well, maybe he would take her to the ballet again.

**So that was it. Please review and tell me what you think. My other stories will be updated soon, I promise, I am just waiting for my muse to strike.**

**Thank you for reading, and if you haven't seen Wicked yet, please do go. You won't be disappointed. Also, if anyone wants to talk about Wicked, please feel free to. I will try to reply but it may take a while as my laptop is on the blink.**

**Anyway, thanks again.**

**Jennifer.**


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